Lost!
by Memories Left Abandoned
Summary: If there was one thing Riley hated more than anything, it was being sick. Ben/Riley friendship, tiny bit of BenxAbigail. Rating for mature-ish themes.


**A/N: Still don't have my laptop back, but I'm taking advantage of a few alone hours to at least do one update. It's looking like I'm going to have to get a whole new laptop =/ Very sad. Anyway. The title on this doesn't make any sense, since I used the title of the song and not the part that actually applied to this. Just read.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. The whole "wishing upon a star" thing doesn't work. I should sue Disney… and then I could buy NT…**

If there was one thing Riley hated more than anything, it was being sick. He said it made him feel "less masculine." So when I got a call from him at around eight o'clock one night, I knew it was serious.

"Hello?"

"Ben?" he whine (at least that's what I think he said. He was so congested it may have been "bed," but that made less sense). "I'b sick."

"I can tell," I answered. "Do you need me to come over?"

"Do, do," he said, sniffing. "I did-it want to bodder you—"

"Shut up and lie down. I'll be over in a few minutes."

"Okay."

I hung up the phone in time for Abigail to enter the kitchen. "Who was that?"

"Riley," I answered. "He's sick."

"Call me if you need me," she said, knowing my intention.

"I love you," I told her, kissing her on the cheek.

"I love you too. Tell Riley to feel better."

I nodded before heading upstairs to put together an overnight bag. I figured I'd need it.

NTNTNT

When he answered the door, he was wrapped in at least three blankets. He had a tissue stuffed up one nostril, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. "Hey," he greeted weakly.

"Wow," I said. "You look like death warmed over."

He glared at me, and I smiled. "Go lie down. What medicine have you taken?"

"Uh…" he croaked as he returned to the couch. "Nud."

I shook my head and wondered if he even had medication in his tiny apartment. "It's a good thing I brought some then. Temperature first, though."

Defeated, he unwillingly opened his mouth as I stuck the thermometer in. I prepared his medicine while I waitied, and the thermometer beeped as I returned.

"Stupid ebil liddle stick ob doomb," he muttered.

I read the number and took an exasperated glance at him, handing him the glass of water. "Take this before you pass out." He obeyed, and I noticed the bags under his eyes as he sipped. "Go to sleep. I'll stay."

He sighed and laid down. "Thanks," he sniffed as he drifted into sleep.

I found the book in my bag and made myself comfortable in a chair near the couch.

An hour later, I had progressed only a few pages. Riley was tossing and turning and muttering, and I was worried. He normally slept like a log.

I was just getting back to reading when Riley awoke, took a quick look at me, and ran out of the room. A moment later, I heard a gagging sound from the bathroom, followed by a moan and a flush. He returned to the couch and sat down, throwing the blankets off.

"I go to sleep freezing and wake up throwing up and scorching hot… awesome," he muttered, sighing.

I put my book down. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I think," he answered. "I'm less congested. Except that I'm still really hot."

I frowned. "Roll up the sleeves on your sweatshirt," I suggested.

He looked away and murmured, "I'm alright."

"Don't be ridiculous," I chided, standing and crossing over to the couch. "Your face is scarlet and you're sweating. Roll up your sleeves." As I commanded this, I tried to do it myself. He had an unexplainable look on his face; shame made no sense… I grabbed a sleeve and tugged. He refused to meet my eyes…

One long, uninterrupted scar ran up the length of his arm. It was white with age, and raised from the rest of his skin. There were also a thousand smaller scars, but none so prominent as the first.

"Is the other arm like this, too?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the sickening sight.

"More or less," he answered quietly, rolling up his other sleeve.

Two longer, criss-crossed scars caught my eye first, followed by the rest. "Riley…"

"I wasn't very well liked in high school," he explained.

"Someone else did this to you?" I asked, anger already boiling beneath my skin.

"No, it's not like that," he said with a sigh.

As opposed to a moment ago, ice now rushed through my veins. "You were a cutter?"

Ashamed, he didn't respond. I ran a finger over the scar on his first arm.

"It didn't start out that way," he said, surprising me. "Actually, it was an accident the first time."

"You don't have to explain," I said.

"Yes, I do," he answered. "You're me best friend, and you deserve to know."

I couldn't respond to that. I wanted to say thanks, but I didn't think it would be appropriate considering the topic.

"Like I said, I wasn't very well like in high school. I didn't have any friends, and I got made fun of a lot. The day it started, I told a girl—I don't even remember who she was—I liked her, and she said I was a freak. I was washing the dishes for my mom, and a steak knife slipped out of my hand."

He held out his wrist, pointing to a tiny nick in his skin. He blew his nose and continued.

"It wasn't much, but that tiny little cut released something in me. It was like relief. So I tried it again—on purpose."

He pointed to a small line near the first.

"That was the beginning of it. At first I'd only do it once or twice a week, but soon that wasn't enough. By college I was doing it multiple times a day, and it still didn't feel the way it had."

"It all came crashing down in one night. I got really wasted, the first time I'd ever drank, and I'm not happy when I drink. It got out of control. That's where these came from." He indicated the deep white scars. "I was pressing too hard. I think I intended to make an X on this arm too, but I passed out from blood loss."

I still couldn't say anything. What shocked me was the way he was telling the story. He was so calm about it. What was I missing?

"A roommate found me and took me to the hospital. They treated me for alcohol poisoning and pumped more blood back into me, and somebody called me parents. They freaked out, of course, and I went through eight million weeks of ineffective therapy."

My voice finally found itself. "Ineffective?"

"I was still cutting," he said, calm as ever.

"What happened, then?" I asked. "How did you stop?"

"You found me," he responded, lying back down.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You were cutting when I met you? How didn't I notice? And that doesn't answer my question."

He sniffed and coughed, then sighed. "Yes, because I don't wear short sleeves, and I was getting to that." He took another sip of water. "When you met me, I was still that friendless, insecure high school kid I'd always been. But you offered me the one thing no one else had: friendship."

We were both quiet for a while. I couldn't shake the image of his scars from my head. If someone had just been kind to him…

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"For what?"

"That I didn't find you sooner."

He smiled, the first time I'd seen him do so all night. "You're forgiven. And thank you."

"For what?"

"For finding me at all."

I smiled back. "You're welcome."

After a few moments of coughing, he fell asleep again, peacefully this time. I found that I slept much easier knowing that, sickness be damned, Riley would be okay.

_Just because I'm hurting_

_Doesn't mean I'm hurt_

_Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved_

_No better and no worse_

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? …review, please?**


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